


Whumptober- Day 11: Isolation

by PurpleMango



Series: Mango's (sad) Whumptober 2019 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Feels, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, I Don't Even Know, Isolation, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Post-War, Sad Vibes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:00:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20997485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleMango/pseuds/PurpleMango
Summary: Playing chess as the king on an empty board, doing nothing but moving one square at a time pacing an empty kingdom, Harry was alone with only his broken crown and bloody hands.





	Whumptober- Day 11: Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is... a big current mental state.  
Enjoy ✿

Sitting in the clear water, knees to his chest, Harry stared at the tiny bubbles that clung to the side of the clawed bathtub like braille, occasionally one of the tiny bubbles dislodging itself to start a chain of destruction to the surface- leaving behind just the white of the tub.

The now chilled water seeming to leach any warmth from his body, he couldn't find the effort in his bones to move, to pry his arms from where they were wrapped around his legs.

In the background aimless piano music drifted through the empty rooms of Grimmauld Place and Harry knew that if he got out of the bathtub he would do the same thing- going back to wandering the rooms of the old rotting house like a shade of the person he was.

So for now he stayed here.

Even if in the back of his mind a voice that sounded like Hermione's was telling him to do  _ something- _ to open a book or fire-call one of his friends- he couldn't bring himself to.

Playing chess as the king on an empty board, doing nothing but moving on square at a time pacing an empty kingdom, he was alone with only his broken crown and bloody hands.

Stiffly prying his hand from his leg, he pulled the drain, watching numbly as the water drained from the tub. Then he turned the spigit on as hot as it would go.

_ What he did to keep himself from thinking, finding comfort in the heavy embrace of water. _

Plugging the drain once again, he slowly moved to lay back, staring blankly at the ceiling as the scalding water returned warmth to his body. Losing himself in the counting of the bumpy dots on the ceiling, he was forced to lose his place and start over… and over… and over...

Harry’s eye was caught by the movement of a small black spider creeping across the wall, his apathy keeping the tiny creature alive, his desensitized state of numbness keeping him from just squishing it.

_ What was the point? _

Blinking slowly, he tracked the spider across the wall, the black arachnid sitting on the spout of the tub. 

“If you… were told,” his voice was soft in the stillness of the empty house, “that the world depended on you to die…” His eyes stayed on the spider, as if it could understand him. “Would you jump? Drown yourself in the water?”

The words echoed across the tile and out the open door into the house that was uninhabited except him.

Slowly, the spider moved from it’s perch, starting it’s journey across the wall again.

His eyes went back to the ceiling. “I didn’t think so.”

Harry started to count the bumps again, voice just the barest of mutters. “Dying sucks.”

_ Some days he wondered if he came back from Kings Cross at all. _


End file.
